Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,6

the day, one he’d been weighing since leaving the Petrossian Bar a few hours ago.

How could he even begin to describe seeing Annalise? It was like resistance meets infatuation. The whole time, he’d reined in his desire to kiss her, touch her, taste her lips. Because, well, that would be wholly inappropriate, and he had no fucking clue if she wanted it. A wild, delirious thought popped into his brain. Had she looked him up for the same reason he’d tried to find her ten years ago?

Ah, hell. No. He couldn’t go there. Couldn’t linger on the biggest heartbreak of his life. On the absolutely epic shellacking he’d walked right into, like a fool who thought the past could be resurrected. The past was best left buried. Tonight would just be…fun.

“It was awkward, but easy at the same time,” he said, after much consideration. “If that makes sense.”

Mindy nodded thoughtfully, her blue eyes serious. “Yeah, it does.”

“We sort of slid right back into conversation about work and memories. It was good, even though I still feel like there are a million things I want to ask her.”

Mindy patted his arm. “I know. But perhaps it’s best to save ‘Do you ever think about me?’ for another time.”

“Yeah. Good point.”

“Keep it light and fun,” she advised, then tipped her chin to his phone. “And maybe let her know the plan for tonight.”

He texted Annalise the details, lingering to appreciate the ease with which he communicated with the woman he’d once had the hardest time in the world staying in touch with. So much had changed over the years. Even things like…text messaging. They hadn’t had this luxury when they were younger.

When Mindy finished the round ahead, she thanked the dealer, collected her winnings, and walked away from the table. She was a measured player, always knowing when to stop. They wandered through the casino, then down the hall toward the restrooms, stopping outside the ladies room where it was quiet so they could catch up on other matters.

“Did you see the report from Morris?” she asked, mentioning the private detective he’d hired. Mindy had worked with the guy, so when Michael was looking for a solid recommendation, he’d taken hers.

“Yeah. Not much there. The guy goes to the grocery store, and to buy sheet music at the piano shop. Doesn’t even take his girls to school. I swear I don’t get it. How can he be head of a street gang?” Michael dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. He’d hired the detective to gather some intel on Luke Carlton, the mild-mannered local piano teacher by day, leader of the notorious street gang the Royal Sinners by night. The cops were trying to gather enough evidence to bring him in, and Michael wanted to do everything he could to help take down the fucker he was sure had played a role in plotting his father’s death.

“But that’s how it’s always been,” Mindy said. “This guy has supposedly been running the Royal Sinners for years, so he damn well knows how to be inconspicuous.”

“That’s the trouble,” Michael said, as his phone buzzed.

Annalise.

A concert! Sounds great. I will be there.

He promptly forgot about Luke and zoned in on those last four words. She would be there.

His Annalise.

* * *

She peered in the mirror, considering the skinny jeans and boots she wore as the phone trilled in her ear and she waited for her sister to pick up.

“It’s two in the morning,” Noelle grumbled, sleep thick in her voice.

“I know,” Annalise said, checking out the side view. Not bad. “But you instructed me to call you the second I had a report.”

Her older sister groaned, then Annalise heard sheets rustle, and she assumed Noelle was dragging herself out of her tiny bed in her tiny flat in the Fifteenth Arrondissement. “Fine. Report.”

“I’m seeing him again. Tonight,” she said, a grin tugging at her lips.

“You’ve already seen him once?”

“Yes. This afternoon.”

“And you didn’t think to give me a report then?”

“I wanted to wait until I knew for certain another time would be happening. He just texted me details a few minutes ago.”

“Mon petite papillon,” Noelle said in a playful huff, using the nickname she’d bestowed on Annalise many moons ago. Annalise froze, not because it bothered her, but because it reminded her of what Michael used to call her. Not a butterfly, but he had given her an affectionate little name, and she hadn’t thought about it in ages. She thought about it now,